


HankCon WIPs

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Compilation, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: each chapter is a WIP... just looking to gauge general interest/comments?
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. folk duo au

Jimmy’s Bar was one of Hank’s favorite places to play. It was never too crowded, the bartender was nice, and Hank never felt like he had to get dressed up when he was there. It felt strange being in a bar in the middle of the day, but he had a meeting with his manager and this seemed like the easiest spot to have it. No one came to the bar at 3pm when they opened, so they would have the place to themselves.

Hank had been performing for years, even had a bit of a fan following in the Detroit area. Played a few open-air events downtown, even sang the national anthem for a Gears game. He just wished Cole got to be there for it.

He ordered a light beer, just something easy, and hardly waited more than a few minutes before Jeffery Fowler strolled in, “Hey, Hank.”

“Jeff,” Hank regarded, stepping down from the barstool to greet his old roommate from the police academy with a proper handshake. “Take a seat, how’ve you been?”

“Good, good, no complaints.” Jeff waved to the bartender, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

They clink their pint glasses together when the bartender sets the freshly poured glass down for Fowler, just a bit of foam spilling and strickles down the side of the glass.

“So, down to business,” Jeff started. “This isn’t anything to be worried about, but things have plateaued a little around here. Your social media numbers, streaming revenue, it’s all a little stagnant.”   
  
“All right, so… maybe I do a few more gigs in Ann Arbor, or Lansing?”   
  
“I was thinking bigger. How’d you feel about going on tour?”   
  
Mid-sip, Hank nearly choked on his beer. “Tour? You think that’s a good idea?”   
  
“Sure do,” Fowler said, smirking as he handed Hank a napkin. “It couldn’t hurt, right? Besides, you need to get your ass out of this town. When was the last time you went outside of Michigan?”

Hank frowned, “So?”   
  
“As both your manager, and friend, I’m just saying: getting out there will be good for you. Write some new songs, maybe find someone to collaborate with. Didn’t you used to perform with someone?”   
  
The memories of Hank’s first few shows, nearly a decade ago now, bubbled up from where he had buried them. “Yeah, for a few months,  _ years  _ ago. Things didn’t work out.”   
  
“You still got his info? Maybe give him a call,” Fowler nudged him, sipping more of his beer. “People change, ya know. You certainly have.”

  
  
_ “You’re quitting?” Hank nearly snarled, disappointment seeping out of him.  _

_ “I took on more coursework for next semester,” Connor defended, but something restrained him from meeting Hank’s rising anger. “I’m really sorry. I can- I can do the next few shows we have booked, but after things start up for the fall, I won’t have the time.” _

_ Of course, they both knew Connor could only be so sorry. They performed well together, but something always felt weird between them during rehearsals. Neither of them had much experience playing gigs before Hank put out his ad looking for someone to start a folk duo with him.  _

_ Hank sighed, “It’s fine, it’s important right? That fancy conservatory shit, gotta focus on your studies and fancy recitals and all that.” _

_ Deflating, defeated, Connor nodded. “Yeah. It’s only going to get more intense.” _

_ The mood of their rehearsal dropped so suddenly, Hank set down his guitar to scrub a hand across his face. “All right, let’s… I don’t know. Let’s call it a day, go early for Thursday’s sound check.” _

  
  


“Sure they do,” Hank agreed. He pulled open his phone, all these years he kept Connor’s cell phone and email in his contacts even as he switched from a shitty flip phone to his sleek, fancy new smart one. 

“Well? Call him.”   
  
“What? Right now?” Hank huffed.

“Why not?   
  
_ Why not? _ _   
  
_

Hank’s thumb hovered over the button, finally pressing it and hearing it ring several times. Maybe Connor switched numbers? And he could hang up before embarrassing himself.

_ “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Connor Arkay. I’m not available at the moment, but please leave your name and number, and I’ll call you back.” _

There was a beep, and Hank gulped a breath before the words tumbled out of him. “Hey Connor, this is Hank Anderson. Uhhhh… I know you’re in that “pop” orchestra or whatever, but I was wondering if you had any time to meet up. About business. Umm, call me back if you’re interested, and thanks. Uhhh, bye.”

  
  


**_Across the city,_ **

Connor’s fingers slid up and down the strings of his violin. The slight calluses ached more than usual, he had hardly set his instrument down all morning. The Detroit Pops didn’t have a concert for another few months, only just recruiting some new musicians. But that meant new songs were added to the repertoire, which meant Connor had to know them by heart as the first chair.

He was interrupted by a loud knock on the door of his rehearsal room (which was more of a glorified closet). He jumped, the strings squeaking, as his brother cautiously stepped in. “Markus just came back with our lunch delivery. You should join us, and meet the other new members.”

Connor took the rosin from his music stand, gliding it up and down the length of the bow, “Maybe later. I’d really like nail down this last section, especially since the full ensemble rehearsal is-”   
  
“Connor,” Niles interrupted. “You can’t sustain yourself on water and music. And as first chair, it would mean a lot if you could come and mingle a little more. Maybe rub off on some of the newbies. You know, one of them also studied under Kamski at the conservatory.”   
  
_ Poor soul _ , Connor wanted to bark out.

“Give me a few minutes, all right?” 

His brother leaned against the door, studying his posture as Connor took up his instrument again to tune. “What can I do?”   
  
Connor didn’t look up, “Hmm?”

“You always loved music, Connor, I just don’t understand why you suddenly  _ don’t _ .” Niles frowned, “Well, not suddenly. But the last couple of years, ever since you made first chair, you seem more distant from it.”   
  
“That’s because it’s my job now,” Connor said. “I don’t have time for it to be my passion, too.”

From his bag, Connor’s phone buzzed. They both listened in silence to the rhythmic hums, but Connor didn’t move to answer it. 

“If it’s too much pressure to be first chair, I can talk to-”   
  
“What, tell Amanda I don’t want to be first chair anymore? Good luck with that,” Connor said, continuing to tune.

Silently, Niles left him alone, and the second his footsteps couldn’t be heard walking down the hall Connor let his shoulders relax and set down the violin. Truth be told, he was exhausted. Not just with playing, but the expectations of that title. “First chair…” he whispered to himself. Granted, it paid well enough to make a significant dent in his student debt, which was a number that made his stomach coil uncomfortably when he looked at his loan account after graduating with his Master’s. 

He knew, hundreds of thousands of musicians would  _ kill _ for his seat, getting to wear nice clothes for each performance, with most of the orchestra looking to him for cues second only to the conductor. And Niles was a good one, but it made the violin on his shoulders feel all the more heavy.

Connor’s phone stopped buzzing a while ago, so he set his instrument down and pulled it from his bag to check it.

_ 1 missed call, 1 new voicemail _

He flicked the screen open, setting the voicemail to play on speaker as he started to shuffle through his sheet music.

_ “Hey Connor, this is Hank Anderson.” _   
  
Frozen, Connor listened intently to the message. It had been long,  _ too _ long since he had heard that deep, resonant voice that both fueled his frustrations and haunted his wildest wet dreams. Hanks still performed, last he checked; made himself into a big of a local name and played a wide variety of shows. He had seen Hank’s name on posters for everything from local dive bars to headlining opening day of the outdoor farmer’s market.

It was nice that Hank was still performing, and some small, aching part of him wished he could have kept playing with him. 

_ “...wondering if you had any time to meet up. About business. Umm, call me back if you’re interested, and thanks. Uhhh, bye.” _

Connor’s heart pounded. He carefully stepped around to the door, listening through the thick wood before grabbing his phone and calling back so quickly he didn’t even have time to compose himself before he heard Hank’s voice again.

_ “Hey, Connor?” _

He exhaled, “H-hi, Hank.”

_ “Well shit, that was fast. Did I catch you at a bad time?” _   
  
Connor pressed his back to the padded wall of the rehearsal room, a hand at the base of the throat where he could feel his rapid pulse. “No, not really. I was just… I was rehearsing, taking a break.”

_ “ ‘No rest for the weary’, huh?” _   
  
“Heh, yeah,” Connor smiled, looking up to the ceiling.

_ “I’m actually, uh, I’m with my manager right now. Can I put you on speaker?” _ Hank asked.

“Oh!” Connor cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders a little. “Sure, yeah.”   
  
He heard some fumbling on the other end, and the  _ thud _ of the phone being set down on a surface.  _ “Connor Arkay, right? With the Detroit Pops? Damn, my wife goes to the holiday concert with her mom every year. Y'all put on a hell of a show.” _   
  
“Uhh, thank you?”

_ “Sorry, my name’s Jeff. Was just talking to Hank about getting someone to perform with, might try to send him on tour and didn’t want the ol’ bastard going around on his own. Plus, may be good for his ‘musical integrity’ or something. Anyway, how would you feel about a test run? Maybe sometime this week?” _   
  
Hank’s voice cut in,  _ “Only if you want, I just… since we performed together all those years ago you were the first person I thought of when he suggested it.” _   
  
Slowly, Connor slid down the wall until he was sitting, his legs unable to hold him up any longer. “Yes. Yes I’d love that.”

_ “Great. I’ll let you and Hank work out the details later today, if that’s alright with you?” _   
  
Wow. Just… Connor’s thoughts rushed like a waterfall absorbing everything. “Yes, that sounds great. Thank you, both of you, for the consideration.”

_ “Back ‘atcha, Connor,” _ Jeff said, and Connor could hear the switch as he was taken off speakerphone. 

_ “I’ll text you in a little while, okay? It’s good to hear from ya. I know it’s been a while.” _

“Yeah,” Connor bit his lip. “It has, hasn’t it?” He looked up at his empty chair, the scattered sheet music, some of which had fluttered to the floor in his haste. “It’s really good to hear from you, too.”

_ “I’ll uhhh… I’ll talk to you later. See ya, Con. _ ”

Connor whispered out “Bye, Hank” before the line went dead, and he dropped the phone to his chest as a wave of exhaustion creeped up on him. 

His phone buzzed again, but this time it was a message from his brother, reminding him to take a break. Nothing about the call with Hank, about the possibility of having some other opportunity in his life, was set in stone. But, it did make Connor feel lighter. He tucked the violin in its case before descending down to the kitchen, making polite conversation as he ate his lunch. 

Later, Hank texted him a day, a time, and an address. This was a second chance that Connor knew he didn’t deserve, and yet wanted with every fiber of his being.

\----------------------

The location, which was an old, family run music store that Connor had poked his head into a fair number of times, was just opening for the day when Connor stepped inside. A bell on the door jingled, and the clerk behind the counter must have known he was coming.   
  
“Practice room is in the back, on the left,” the elderly gentleman said. “You’re early.”

Merely nodding, Connor thanked him and hurried across the carpeted floor with guitars and amps scattered about to the room in question. He was glad to be early, it gave him more time to prepare himself for the appointment. Would the manager be there, or is it just him and Hank? Would he need to commit right away?

A list of questions wrote itself in his head as he set himself up. He brought a few instruments; the violin was what he was most comfortable with but he felt it necessary to show he could be diverse. There was no harm in that, right? (It certainly wasn’t to show off to Hank, although it couldn’t hurt if the whole point is to make an impression.)

He had a vague idea of how Hank looked, and it didn’t surprise him that he aged well (if a little rapidly). A handful of posters and ads had pictures of him performing, his bright, short blonde hair had transformed into silvery waves that framed his face with a handsome beard. It suited him, Connor pondered as he set his stuff down and started to tune. 

There was one show, not their first or last, but one that should’ve been just like the other ones. And it always stuck out in Connor’s memory. Hank’s voice was getting stronger, and he sang as smoothly as the whiskey that Connor could smell on his breath. They each had a shot at the bar before the show, for good luck, and there was something that just really stood out about their chemistry on the stage that night.   
  
And Connor had felt that other times, even once or twice with the orchestra. There’s a kind of energy when performing, especially with others, where you can just  _ feel _ how well it’s going, how much the audience enjoys it. 

  
  



	2. humanAU - summer love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a human au, they are both younger (Connor is 20/21). Connor's mother Amanda is engaged to marry Rose, and Hank is Rose's neighbor who grows his own pot
> 
> Not sure where I wanted to go with this but??? Here it is!

At the end of Connor's first year away at college, his adoptive mother is engaged to marry.

Niles is still living at home, and he relays the details about their mom's long-blossoming relationship, that has grown to a point where they are ready for a lifelong commitment. 

Rose Chapman is a perfectly wonderful woman. A retired marine, a widow with a son of her own, and a little farm a couple hours north of Detroit. Amanda loves teaching at the university, but she was getting close to retiring. 

What better way to live out her golden years than with her new wife, in a little house in the countryside?

Connor is half a country away, so everything moves house without him well before the wedding. Their new home, thankfully, has plenty of bedrooms, so the two boys each still get their own.

He flies back home just two days before the wedding. Niles drives, although Amanda navigates since he only just got his license recently. He got accepted to UMichigan, so the plan is for him to bring their old car with him to school. 

Now that Connor is home, and there to help, Amanda asks if they can do some of the wedding preparations, which means errands. Though exhausted, Connor agrees.

They go to several vendors: florist, caterer, the bakery for the cakes, two craft stores, and then pick up their suits from the tailor. After this, the rest of the weekend is for fun, she promises. 

They drove another couple hours to reach the cozy farmhouse, across a dirt road from a horse ranch. 

Connor unloads his stuff from the car, and two people come out to meet them. He recognizes Rose from all the pictures, and is given a hug immediately off the bat. Adam is a bit more hesitant, offering just a 'hello' and a shy wave. 

It's a lot to take in, Connor thinks. He can relate. 

That first night, Connor can't sleep. It's his bed and his sheets, but it's too cozy and quiet than the dorms. The change disorienting.

The wedding is going to take place at the farm; a beautiful ceremony down by the private lake and then partying until midnight in one of the fields. When Amanda said "fun", apparently that involved setting out the decorations, chairs, and tents while day-drinking some of the copious beer and champagne.

While Niles abstains, Connor enjoys some wine. He drank at college, despite not quite being the legal age to. As long as he doesn't go crazy at home, Amanda doesn't mind. Besides, it's only a few months until he turns 21. He went to college later than most, taking a year and a half in between to work and earn money. 

So they somehow get the tents to stay up, and the dozens of folding chairs are set up by the lake. Little favor boxes are filled, and as the afternoon crawls by, Connor is told they are going to a bonfire at one of the neighbor's houses. It's something of a reception dinner, since all of Rose's friends would be there. Amanda had very few coming from her side, since most of her family had passed away or lost contact, and only a few friends could make the trip up for tomorrow.

But her two boys were there, and she wouldn't trade that for anything. 

Connor changed from the loose, paint-stained work clothes to something a little nicer. Some faded jeans, a white v-neck and a light blue, plaid shirt. 

This neighbor lived in a pretty small house, considering most of the ones in that area were built for rather large families. It was a simple raised ranch, with "Anderson" painted on a large slab of slate by the driveway. 

"It's in a bucket, mom," Niles comments as they pull up.

Amanda is busy writing in a notebook in the passenger seat, and doesn’t look up as she replies. "What is?"

"His mailbox. It's on a piece of wood, shoved into a bucket of cement. Why not just stick it in the ground like a normal-"

"Niles, please," she warns. "Don't say that." 

"Maybe he is going to bury the bucket?" Connor offers, but gets a scoff.

"It's barely tall enough even in the bucket!"

Their mother closes her book and folds her arms to chide him, "Are you going to be nice, or are you going to be the reason I get a dozen last-minute 

"Sorry."

The discussion lasts just long enough to get up the driveway. Rose and Adam are just behind, pulling their pickup right next to Amanda's little hybrid car.

A few people call out for Rose, and the small, soon-to-be family parades over to the picnic tables and barbecue behind the house. Everyone is introduced, although Connor can't retain any of it, still exhausted from traveling and then working all day. He is ready for some food, and maybe more wine if they have it.

"Where is Hank?" Rose asks, pouring lemonade for her and her fianceé.

"Getting stuff ready to cook," a little girl asks. Connor can't remember the name… Allie, maybe? 

"I'll go see if he needs help," Connor says. It's easier to handle one new person than so many, then maybe he can find something to drink. Hopefully this "Hank" stocks decent beer in his fridge. Niles gives him a look as he starts away, rolling his eyes. 

Connor goes through the sliding door into the house, "Hello? Do you need any help, Mr. Anderson?"

The kitchen is right there as comes in, and… oh. So is Hank, it seems. 

Shirtless, in just exercise shorts and flip-flops, is a barrel-chested bear out of Connor's horniest dreams. He turns to look at Connor, baby blue eyes, a trim, grey beard that matches his shaggy hair. 

"Who are you?"

"Uhhhh… Connor?" Hank raises an eyebrow, and he stutters to explain. "I-I'm Amanda's oldest... for the party?"

The man's face softens a little, "Ahhhh, yeah, Rose mentioned you, I think. Could you grab the ribs from the fridge?"

Nodding, Connor goes to the black vinyl door of the fridge, opening to find the aforementioned meat on a foam tray, and some various wine coolers. "Mind if I take one of these?" He leans into Hank's view, setting down the ribs with a bottle of light blue liquid.

"Knock yourself out."

He watches the large and calloused, but deftly sure fingers rip off the plastic wrap and start to clean the edges. "So… moving into the Chapman place? She’s talked about your mother a lot, I’m happy for them.”

Humming, Connor finds a wall-mounted bottle opener, cracks open his drink and takes a sip. "Already moved, actually. I'm just here for the summer, until college starts up again. 

"Ahh, right. Somewhere out west, right?"

"Arizona." Connor said, giving a smile. 

Hank gestures to the drink in his hand, "You even old enough to have that?"

"I will in August," he smirks. "What is there to do around here, by the way?

"Not much. Town's about a twenty-minute drive, not much to it, though. There's some hiking paths through the forest, a pretty sizable stream… gotta watch out for the wildlife though."

It's something, but not really enough to fill a whole summer. Great. 

He helps Hank carry out the trays of food to be cooked, including foil pouches of veggies and steak cut fries. A lot of it is slathered in barbecue sauce, and the smell of savory smoke fills the yard.

Connor ends up at the end of the table with Niles, who seems perfectly content just 'people-watching' all of the country bumpkins. But, Connor is positively distracted by the man at the grill; the drink in his hands no longer quenching his thirst. 

He is hungry for something. Thinking about it… if it works out, maybe he could have a reliable fuck-buddy this summer. Hank may be older, but he has a body that Connor knows could wreck him thoroughly.

And with the wedding tomorrow? Yeah. He has some nervous energy to burn off.

They eat the perfectly cooked ribs, wings, steaming potatoes with slabs of butter and some kind of seasoning. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

The night winds down, they light up the bonfire, and the soon-to-be-wedded make speeches to everyone. Sappy, and over-sharing, and they couldn't have said "love" even more than they did.

And then… things started to wrap up.

Connor makes himself useful to curry favor. He helps with the dishes, but needs to ask Hank where everything goes. Asks if he can take care of this thing and that, making sure that he is present in Hank's mind for the better part of an hour with his apologetic interruptions.

He knew his brother had figured out what he was up to, by the way he looked expectantly at Connor like a scolding parent. While in the kitchen, he eyed a liquor cabinet, abstaining from any more drinks and taking his chances that Hank will offer him something stronger before he makes a move.

As his family comes inside, Hank trailing behind, Amanda announced they were heading home, which meant it was time for Connor’s finale.

He glanced up to Hank, with the biggest pair of puppy eyes and a little smile as he could, “Thank you for having us, Mr. Anderson. ”

One look from Hank was all he needed to know he accomplished his mission.

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind driving Connor back later. I didn’t get a chance to talk with him more, especially after he helped clean up so much.”

Amanda thankfully, doesn’t seem phased, “Just not too late, You’re on usher duty, you know.”

“I know, mom. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that.” He gives her a kiss goodnight, and gets a key to the farmhouse from her keyring. They leave with little fanfare, and he could see his host's shoulders physically relax.

“Jesus, been a while since I’ve dealt with so many people. I really do appreciate all that,” he gestures all around him, and then smirks. “So, I suppose you want something?”

Connor gapes a little, trying to think of how to play it off, but feeling himself getting thrown off as Hank removes his button down shirt, revealing worn t-shirt underneath. He steps closer. 

“Uhh, I-”

“Lemme grab a few things, and let’s go take a walk.” He disappears into a room, not his bedroom, though. Connor isn’t sure what it is, maybe some kind of pantry? He comes back with a shoebox, tilting his head for Connor to follow.

They go out the back door, and Connor is more than a little confused as they head toward one of the hiking paths. He hesitates, brows furrowed, until Hank turns back to him. “It ain’t that far, promise.”

The brunet shrugs; Hank seems pretty harmless, though he isn’t sure what he is in for. Maybe Hank wants an outdoor fuck, and likes toys? He wasn’t sure what else would be in the box.

They climb up a hill, and at the crest of it Connor finds himself a little stunned. There is a patch of soft grass beneath a big tree, and it overlooks the farms in the valley. There are dim, little lights in most of the houses in the distance, and it's nearly silent save for the breeze and the sounds of nocturnal creatures who are awake and hungry.

Hank sits, and Connor follows. “Hold this for me,” he says, giving the younger man the flashlight. When he opens the shoebox, now nestled between them, he picks up a small, shiny cylinder. There’s a smell that Connor can just barely recognize.

“You smoke weed?” He asks, incredulously. 

“Smoke it?” Hank chuckles, “I *grow* my own shit. I’ve had my setup for years now.” He opens what Connor now realizes is a grinder, setting it down before going for a bag in his pocket. A dried, green lump inside. Hank snaps off the stem, picking off pieces to put in the grinder and gives it a few twists. “Hope you don’t mind that it’s a sativa.”

“I, uhh… don’t know the difference.” 

Sure, he has friends at school who smoke. Probably more than he actually knows. But he didn’t really go to parties for anything more than the booze. 

Tired, blue eyes look his way, “Never smoked before?” Connor shakes his head at him, “Ah, shouldn’t have assumed. I thought all college kids did these days,” Hank comments.

“I haven’t really had the opportunity yet,” Connor tries to defend.

“Well, not to brag too much, but this is some good shit.” He scoops little pinches of it, filling a small, glass pipe. “But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

*Does* he want to? 

He has weighed the pro’s and con’s of it. Connor wasn’t necessarily opposed; he had been curious. But what worried him was getting caught, especially if he came home smelling like it.

“Won’t it make my clothes smell?”

“You already smell like the bonfire, it'll be fine.”

Unconvinced but unperturbed, Connor just shrugged a little. He wanted to get drunk and then into Hank’s pants. This was turning out a bit differently than expected. Maybe he could still meet the same goal like this? He just had to stay focused.

“After… maybe we could have a little fun at your place?” He says, and to level the playing field, removes his plaid overshirt so he is just down to the form-fitting v-neck. 

Hank’s smile becomes a little more devious. “Oohhhhh,” he understands a little better, biting his lip as he eyes Connor’s silhouette. “I have an idea then. Maybe to ease you into it… you could shotgun off of me.”

“How does that work?” Connor asks, watching as a lighter flickers in Hank’s hand. Smoke billows above the bowl for a moment, before it starts to get pulled up into Hank’s mouth. He wags a finger for Connor to get closer, tilting his face up and bringing his lips to Connor’s. There is a kiss, and it’s all too tender for how riled up Connor already is, so the moment he moves his lips open, he feels a hot breath enter his mouth. 

It’s a strange sort of taste, dry and earthy. He inhales it, but his lungs seize up and he breaks away to cough. Still close enough, though, that he can hear the soft chuckle that Hank gives him. “That’s also gonna happen, just let it happen.”

Once his lungs have stopped trying to exit his body, he sees Hank goes for another round, but doesn’t lean in this time. Connor watches him slowly inhale, a slight whistle from the pipe as he sucks in the air. He exhales with a deep sigh, smoke coming out of his mouth and nose like he’s some sort of dragon. (He sure has the voice for it, Connor thinks.)

“Want another round?”

Connor nods excitedly, doing his best to relax the muscles in his chest as he takes in a deep breath. He tries to hold it in, but it stings a little, and he starts to cough again. Hank’s hand, warm and big, goes to his back; gently rubbing and patting it. “That’s it, good boy.” The words send a rush to Connor’s groin.

As Hank goes for another hit for himself, Connor slides the box away a little so he can sit closer to Hank, all but cuddled up near him. He doesn’t feel all that different, but there is a subtle blanket of feeling comfortable that seems to drape over him. Kissing Hank is pretty nice on its own, too.

They take turns like that several more times, Connor loses count. The night air is so refreshing, and he ends up cozied up to the larger man. Impatiently, he decides to take matters into his own hands, slipping them across Hank’s hip, to his belt, going down until his palm is-

Woah, *woah*. Was that…?

Connor physically sits forward to look at the bulge in Hank’s shorts, and his cheeks fill with heat. His hand is still resting there as Hank bucks his hips a little. “Ahhh, fuck,” Hank curses. “Hate to break it to ya, but that ain’t gonna last very long.”

“Then I better be quick about it,” the younger man said, pushing Hank flat on his back and digging out his wallet to get a condom.   
  
“Woah, woah, slow down there,” Hank raised his hands in surrender. “Buy a guy dinner first, would ya?”

He gives Hank a glare, “What did you think I meant by ‘having fun’?”

Hank scratched the side of his head, down to his beard. “Well shit, maybe some fooling around, but I didn’t think you’d want *this*.” Groaning, Connor climbs off to lay down into the grass, looking straight up into the sky, knowing that Hank is giving him a look. “I’m flattered, I ain’t one to put out the same day I meet someone. You understand?”

“It figures,” Connor huffs, but he is still smiling a little. Leave it to him to find the perfect fuck buddy, only for him to be perfectly honest and respectable. Damnit. “Might as well take me home, then.” He hears Hank swear again, and taking another hit from the pipe.

“Not like this, I ain’t. Gotta wait a little while,” Hank insists. "Maybe you and I can just talk a little? Or more of what we were doing before.”

  
“I suppose I could walk-”

A laugh barks from Hank’s throat, “To Rose’s? It would take you all night.” He sighs, and gives Connor a nudge to offer him the pipe. “Look, I make no promises, but give me some slack. I just met you *today*, and nothing says I won’t say yes tomorrow.” Connor looks over at him, watches his face fall as he turns away. “It’s just… been a while. Let me wrap my head around it, all right? You’re- what, about half my age? I don’t get hot, young guys throwing themselves at me a lot, ya know. Especially out here.”

Connor wants to give a retort, but just can’t find it in him. Hank’s *nice*, and it’s making his head spin a little. “*Hot*, huh?”

He gets a tongue stuck out at him in response. “Here, let’s head back. Veg out on the couch a little, and then I’ll bring you home. Hell, I’ll even give you my number. Sound fair?”

“All right, all right,” Connor says, bemused and tired. 

The rest of the evening is… pretty nice, Connor decided. They go back to Hank’s, where the man produces a gallon of cheap ice cream from his freezer to make them milkshakes.

Connor talks about Amanda and Niles, what he studies at school and his limited social life. He’s older, for a freshman, but the upperclassmen don’t take him seriously. It’s frustrating, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about getting distracted around finals from friends who use studying as an excuse to party. His grades are important, he won’t jeopardize that.

Hank listens more than he talks, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing to Connor. He doesn’t seem interested in opening up, at least not yet. He talks about his own college days a little, briefly mentions that he was married once, but nothing beyond that.

He’s curious, of course, but doesn’t pry. Soon enough, Hank is announcing that it's time for Connor to go home.

They step back out into the night air and up to an old station wagon, and it’s silvery appearance and outdated-but-cozy interior reminds Connor of its owner. He thanks Hank for the lift, crawls into bed with thorough exhaustion, but feels kinda good. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was the company.

  
  


Connor is up before dawn the next morning. He could hardly lay still, let alone sleep. By the time he actually got out of bed, the sheets were a rumpled mess from his tossing and turning. 

He splashes freezing cold water over his face, using a washcloth to wipe away some of the sweat from his body until he felt a little cooler. A knock came at the door, and he scrambled to throw his clothes back on.

He opened the door to see Adam, sleepily leaning against the wall. "Morning," he gets out before a yawn takes over.

"Good morning," Connor holds back a chuckle, relinquishing the bathroom to him. 

The whole morning is an odd haze for him, watching his mom put on a lacey, stark-white dress, carefully putting small, silk roses in among her tight braids. He could've stayed there, enjoying the peaceful company of Amanda and Niles, but after a couple of hours he was sent away to help usher folks from the driveway down to the little lake where the ceremony would be. 

For mid-May, it was already incredibly warn. He almost wished he could just wear sandals, especially when he noticed many guests had thought to so just that. The damn dress shoes would be off after the toast, anyway. 

Niles seemed perfectly content dealing with Amanda's friends who came, knowing them much better than Connor did. But a truck pulled up with a couple of neighbors at the same time Connor spotted Hank's car. 

"I'll get Anderson," he said, leaning over. He could almost see the color drain from Niles's face as the family piled out. Particularly, a scruffy-looking farmboy about the same age as Niles, who looked painfully uncomfortable in a suit jacket. 

The rickety station wagon pulled to a stop, and Connor patiently waited as Hank peeled himself out of the driver's seat. "Fuckin' A/C takes too long to kick in, almost thought about turning around just to get a change of clothes."

"That would be a shame" Connor smiled, admiring his dress shirt. He wore dark tan pants, an ivory jacket, and a pink floral shirt. If he had a straw fedora, he could be mistaken for some retired CEO on a cruise. His beard had even been trimmed up a little, and despite the sweat, he smelled downright heavenly. "You look great."

Hank smiled, "Thanks." 

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the dirt path through the tall grass, descending slowly down a hill to the little waterfront. 

"I had a lot of fun last night," Connor said, giving Hank a fond smile.

"Yeah?" The man's posture straightened a little, "Well, I'm uhhh… really glad." 

Connor is glad to see Hank so relaxed, and even brushes his hand close to one of Hank's larger ones. The man curses gently, letting his fingers weave between Connor's. "I've been thinking a lot about last night," he admits in a hushed tone. "And about you." 

"Oh?" The younger man asked.

"Mmmmmhm. If you haven't changed your mind, then I think I could, uh, ya know-"

Raising his eyebrows, Connor stopped them on the footpath for a moment. "Do I know? You should say it," he winked.

Hank bit his lip, looking away flustered, and spoke low. "I'd like to fuck you until you're saying my name loud enough to be heard in the next county."

He certainly wasn't expecting *that*, but Connor's face warmed at the sentiment. "I'll hold you to that." 

Just before the cluster of folding chairs, Connor lingered behind as Hank looked for a good seat. From across the distance, the younger man awkwardly pointed up the hill, huffed, and then just went over instead of trying to communicate further with useless pantomime. “I have to walk other guests down, too,” he sighed. Looking around, he made so no one was watching or listening in, and got closer to Hank. “It’s open seating at the reception though, if you wanna get drinks together.”

God, he was shaking a little. Why? He didn’t usually have this kind of issue when it came to guys his age. But something about Hank excited him, maybe intimidated him a little. Without being told so explicitly, Connor guessed that Hank’s been through some shit. The way his hair seemed so newly grey, bags under his eyes, his reluctance to Connor’s advances. He was earnest, and it was kind of hot when he was a little confident in himself.

“I’ll see you there, then.” Hank nods, his smile makes Connor’s heart jump.

He smiles back, brighter than he has in a while, as he turns to go back up the hill. It aches in his cheeks, and he has just a little bit more energy greeting Rose’s extended family.

  
  


The ceremony is fairly quiet without any music, save for the loud-spoken minister and the crying of some relative’s small child. It’s short and sweet, both brides rosy and teary-eyed, as everyone listens to a selection of poems about love. It may be a tad cheesy, but they are read very well, and Connor manages to catch Hank’s clear blue eyes during one part.

“Let others have the privacy of touching words of love and loss of love. For me, give me your hand.”

They fold their hands together between where they face one another, a delicate lace wrap tying them together. Everyone claps, a few “whoops” and whistles, and then the two ladies kiss sweetly.

Even Niles is crying beside Connor, making use of the pocket square to hide the fact.

There’s a period where people are talking and congratulating, and then the whole new family is pulled away for pictures.

The five of them stand nearly shoulder to shoulder, the boys standing on the side of their new mother of the duo, and even individual portraits for each of them. After that, Amanda and Rose have several other shots planned of just then, so the boys are dismissed to enjoy happy hour. 

“I’m… really happy for our moms. It’s kinda nice having brothers, after years of being an only child, ya know?” 

The Stern boys smile back at Adam, even Niles relaxing the tension in his shoulders. “We got really lucky, you’re a great guy,” he said, turning to Connor expectantly.

“I’ve only been here a couple of days, and you’ve been really great.” He smirks, “Wanna get some food?”

The linger back to the tent, excitedly going for the veggie and cheese platters, and Connor makes a b-line for the booze table. And to his delight, Hank is waiting just beside it with a cup of water, “Hey, what would ya like?”

“Wine,” he breathes, turning to the family friend manning the table on the other side. “Pink zin, please?”

He is poured the pastel-tinted drink while Hank asks for a beer, and removes the cap with an opener on his ring of keys. They step away, and clink their cup and bottle before taking deep sips. 

“Ohhh,” Connor sighs after swallowing. “Thank god for wine.”

  
Hank gives a short snort and chuckle, “Be careful, or you’ll rue those words tomorrow morning. Say, where are the newly wedded? Off to consummate already?”

Thankfully, Connor was in between sips, “Uhhhhh… they’re taking pictures?” 

“I know, I’m kidding,” he pats Connor’s shoulder, but his hands rests there, rubbing up to his neck. “Maybe we could find a place to ourselves later?”

The sudden change in Hank’s flavor of flirting caught him off guard, a little dizzy at the mere warmth of his hand near his neck. “Y-yes, we should.”

“I have something for you later, by the way. Remind me?”

“Okay…” Connor looks at him suspiciously over the rim of the clear, plastic cup. “Should I be afraid?”

“What? Oh no,” Hank assures. “I’ll ask your later.”

With a hum, Connor shrugs, and then nudges him. “You wanna dance together later? I made a few requests with the DJ.”   
  


“Heh, I don’t know if you *want* to see *that*,” the end of his sentence is cut off by music that started to play. Some graceful piano music fills the fresh summer breeze that cuts the heat, and it’s heightened by the calming rustle in the trees.

“This is nicer than quite a lot of weddings I’ve been too,” Hank says, his weight shifting as he starts toward an empty table to sit. “Outdoor ones are tough, those gals got lucky.”

“Tell me about it. I had to talk to my mom out of buying something like three dozen umbrellas, just in case it rained. We can all fit under the tent just fine, if that’s what it came to.”

"One of our neighbors threw a graduation party last year on the night we got a huge rainstorm. We scrambled to get everything inside, I'm not surprised Rose took the precaution."

Connor smiled, taking in a short breath. "So, is it later yet?"

“Aren’t you a patient one,” Hank teases, words dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I’ve got a little something I’ve been working on at home. I know smoking can be a little harsh when you aren’t used to it, but I’ve been thinking of making of batch of brownies sometime this week.” He smiles, “Regardless, you’ve always got an open invitation if you want to come over, or need a buddy to go hiking with. I know these back fields like the back of my hand.”

“Th-thanks,” Connor said. 


End file.
